


Bring Him Home

by belovedplank



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Army buddies, Gen, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Remembrance Day, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock's Violin, singing is good for the soul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:02:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedplank/pseuds/belovedplank
Summary: John is keeping secrets from Sherlock, and Sherlock WILL NOT HAVE IT.Also, Sherlock wants John to realise how wonderful he is without Sherlock having to deal with....feelings.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock knew John was keeping something from him; which was both annoying and not very easy to do. 

John had received an email from someone (Sherlock surmised it was a former army comrade but was not certain who), and John's reaction upon reading it was most interesting due to its unusualness. He had blinked several times, and got somewhat flustered – to the point Sherlock thought he was actually blushing! John went as if to get up, then looked at Sherlock – who quickly looked at the phone in his hand and tried to pretend he was not watching John avidly. Nevertheless, John looked at him in suspicion, before pulling his phone out of his pocket and taking a photo of the screen before laboriously clicking around the screen in a way that Sherlock knew was him deleting the email. Only once he had deleted the email, deleted it from his trash, cleared his history and did a disk clean-up, did John put his laptop to one side, get up and make his way over to the kettle.

When John came back with their cups of tea, he looked at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow as he placed his cup on the coffee table on front of him before returning to his own seat. “Yes Sherlock, that is the level I have to go to in order to have a bit of privacy. And the fact that I have gone that far gives you a little hint that I do not want you to know. So please, just leave it.”  
“I never said anything!”  
“Maybe, but you did forget to lock the screen before you put my laptop back.”

When Sherlock had had the opportunity (once John had gone to work the next day) to check the laptop more thoroughly, all he got was confirmation that John had taken all the steps he thought he had – even going so far as to delete his entire deleted items and his sent items in his email account, as well as his internet history. However, the fact he had deleted his sent items meant that John must have replied to the sender at some point; leading Sherlock to investigate using the 'to' bar to work out the email address of the last email John had sent. This meant he now at least knew who had sent the email – Bill Murray. 

Sherlock was aware that Bill was John's closest surviving comrade – John had met with him for drinks a few times whilst Bill was on leave since he had moved in with Sherlock. This did not lead Sherlock to ascertain anything further; it could be something army related, but it could also be something embarrassing that had happened whilst John was on tour, or it could be Bill teasing him about his love life (the few minutes Sherlock had spent with Bill when he came to the flat to meet John on their last night out, Bill had let John's nick-name of 'Three Continents Watson' slip, which was the first time Sherlock had seen John blush). The fact it was Bill did make Sherlock wonder if it was related to John's sexual history; however, Sherlock had told the still blushing John that he was not at all surprised by his nickname, as he had already surmised John's sexual history from his stance and the way he organised his pants, so he did not think John would be so secretive if that was the case.

He had seen John typing laboriously on his phone; the amount of stopping and frowning leaving Sherlock sure it was about that email, but still no clearer on what the email was about! And John was being very careful to never put his phone down when Sherlock was around – he was even sleeping with it under his pillow (and Sherlock's one attempt to get the phone had resulted in him getting a black eye). 

He had also caught John on the phone to Bill at one point, although he did not manage to glean much from this before John had realised he was there:

“-you know I'm not trained or qualified to do this! I know its a compliment to be asked, but seriously the idea of doing it frankly scares the absolute shit out of me! I don't si-”  
When he saw Sherlock had walked in, he jumped, as Sherlock had managed to avoid the creaky step, and opened the door soundlessly, meaning John had completely missed his entrance.  
“Shit Sherlock! Don't do that! I so need to get you a bell! Bill, I gotta go. We can talk about this another time.”

No matter how much he tried that evening, he could not get John to tell him what the call was about.


	2. Chapter 2

It continued to bug Sherlock that he could not work it out, but a tasty serial killer case kept him distracted for a good week, and then a few small interesting cases one after the other meant that several weeks passed before he remembered. He came out of the shower, still towelling his hair as he made his way over to the couch and his patiently awaited cup of tea, and overhead the remainder of another conversation between John and Bill; “OK, ok, ok! I'm sick of the guilt-trips from all of you; thanks for giving my number to 3 other people from his platoon and his relatives by the way. I'll do it. But you owe me big time for this. Both of you.”   
This meant it was definitely army-related, but Sherlock was still at a loss as to what it was – as there was not much John would not do to show his support for the troops.

John still refused to tell Sherlock what it was, and started to disappear on a Sunday morning for a few hours. However, when Sherlock registered that the paper poppies had started to appear, he realised that Remembrance Day was only a few weeks away. He recalled from the year before that John had attended church for a week or so before Remembrance Day, and attended a service on Remembrance Sunday, so he theorised that John had been asked to speak at such a service this year – which made sense, as he was aware that John vehemently disliked public speaking. His curiosity satisfied, Sherlock simply placed the information in the 'John Watson' room of his Mind Palace and forgot all about it.


	3. Chapter 3

It was less than a week to Remembrance Day, and Sherlock went to fling open the front door in order to march up the stairs in a sulk; Molly had refused to allow him to take the gangrenous foot out of the morgue – even though he had explained that he wanted to conduct an experiment! However, the door was stopped before it could complete its dramatic fling, by Mrs Hudson, who pulled him into the hall with a 'Shh!' He turned to chastise the woman who was so much more than his housekeeper, but before he could do more than start to glare scathingly, she flung a hand over his mouth and whispered “Seriously shh! He'll stop if he knows you're home but you have to hear this!”

_He is young  
He's afraid  
Let him rest  
Heaven blessed _

____

____

It was John. Singing. And it was beautiful. 

Sherlock had heard John humming along to the radio, and occasionally singing whilst in the shower or completing household chores, so he knew that John was not a bad singer, but this was so far beyond registering that his flatmate could hold a tune. That vaguely tuneful voice was in fact a stunning, pitch-perfect tenor. The combination of the flawless tone and the sheer emotion in his voice was stunning at a level that left Sherlock with goosebumps.

He was jolted from this trance-like state by a loud groan and a footstamp, after John's voice cracked from the emotion. He presumed that John had flung his music, from the stomping and grumbling he could hear. 

Him and Mrs Hudson carefully crept nearer to the bottom of the steps, the vague mumbling from above seeming to be John giving himself a talking to – along the lines of 'get yourself together Watson! You are going to sing this properly and without falling apart'.

After a cough and a throat-clear, they held their collective breaths as he resumed;

_You can give  
Let him be  
Let him live  
If I die, let me die  
Let him live  
Bring him home  
Bring him home  
Bring him home. _

At that last note, held for a full 12 beats and yet remaining perfectly in tune without wavering at all, Sherlock registered that in addition to goosebumps, his eyes were filled with tears – one of which had managed to escape and was making its way down his cheek. He felt a little better when he realised that Mrs Hudson was crying outright; quickly taking her arm and leading her into her own flat and sitting her down, before the sound of her sobs could make their way upstairs and allow John to realise he had been overheard. He quickly wiped his cheek as he prepared a cup of tea for Mrs Hudson, hoping his moment of sentiment had gone unnoticed, but one look at her face resigned him to this being a fruitless hope.

“And we will not speak of this! As you are clearly aware from the fact that you shushed me so vigorously when I arrived, I was not meant to hear this, so you cannot say anything about my reaction.”

He then proceeded to leave her flat by the back-door, advising that this was so he could return later in order to appear to John that he had never been there.


	4. Chapter 4

He had walked round for some time, making several calls whilst doing so, meaning that it was almost dinnertime by the time he arrived home, and he had received a text from John asking where he was. As he got to the door of Baker Street, he stopped for a moment, flinging his cigarette and arranging his face to ensure the required emotions were recognisable, tucked the paper-bag he had under his arm and threw open the door – enjoying the sound of it slamming against the wall (the very sound he had been deprived of earlier). Slamming it shut behind him, he stomped up the stairs with the same vigour, ensuring anyone else in the house was both aware that he was home and also aware of the mood he was intending to emote – displeasure. By the time he entered the flat, he heard the sounds of the kettle finishing its boil and John making them each a cuppa. Nevertheless, he said nothing and just flung himself facedown on the couch. 

Placing the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of the couch, John took himself and his own tea to his armchair before asking; “So what's Mycroft done now?”

Sherlock groaned loudly into the couch cushion before turning to face the coffee table, and John. “He decided to tell my parents that the reason that I did not send an anniversary present was because I was going to perform a song from Mummy's favourite musical at their next function.”

John's eyes widened as he almost snorted his tea up his nose. “Could he not have just reminded you of the anniversary beforehand like he usually does?”

At the lack of reply, he looked at Sherlock to see him focused on his tea. “Oh, he did didn't he? And you still forgot?! Oh, Sherlock.”

At that, Sherlock put his cup of tea on the floor before glaring at John. “Just for that John, you will not be taken into account when I consider times to practice such music.”

John just shook his head and returned his focus to his tea. “As if you ever do Sherlock. What musical is it anyway?”

Sherlock sat up and opened the paper bag he had carried in, pulling out the sheet-music book for the musical in question. “Les Miserables”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John momentarily freeze as he confirmed the musical in question, before speaking again (attempting a nonchalant tone and failing – to fool Sherlock anyway); “And what song?” 

Sherlock shrugged as he flicked through the pages, “Not decided yet. I have never been forced to attend with my parents, so I will probably play them all and decide which one I can tolerate.”

“You mean you've never seen it? Not a School Production, or even the movie?!”

“Seriously John, can you really see me getting involved in a school production? If I won't attend the West End to watch a musical, why would I watch a movie?”

John shook his head as he walked over to collect Sherlock's cup from the floor and to take both now-empty cups to the sink. “That is a travesty Sherlock, one that is being rectified immediately. I know Mrs Hudson would greatly enjoy some quality time with her surrogate son whilst watching one of her favourite movies, and it will give me a reason to coax her into making those biscuits you like.” 

So that evening the three of them ended up on Mrs Hudson's couch (Mrs Hudson in the middle of course) with a pot of tea and plate of home-baked, still warm, sugar coated biscuity goodness as they watched Hugh Jackman, Anne Hathaway et all as they emoted effusively for over two hours.


	5. Chapter 5

So, in the week following, John got used to hearing snippets of various songs from Les Mis being played on the violin upon returning home from work each evening; as despite his threats Sherlock was actually considerate enough not to play once John had gone to bed . It was nice. 

However, the one time he heard Sherlock playing part of 'Bring him Home' caused him to stop in his tracks and just stare. It was haunting and beautiful and just hearing it made him feel guilty about keeping a secret from Sherlock. But he knew he had to; he barely had the courage to sing in front of people he did not know, he knew he would not be able to do it in front of Sherlock. 

The morning of 10th November dawned, and John stumbled his sleepy way downstairs to stick the kettle on prior to his morning ablutions – so it would be boiled by the time he came back out. Returning from the bathroom a little more clear-headed and awake, he started to prepare two cups of tea, assuming Sherlock was still asleep, so he was surprised to hear his footsteps thundering up the stairs. By the time the door was flung open, John had one perfectly prepared cup of tea in his hand ready for Sherlock to take from him.

“Morning Sherlock,” he pronounced as the door opened, holding the tea out to him. Sherlock flung the dry cleaning he had in one arm onto the couch and then took the tea with his now free hand. “Thank you John, here you go!” Sherlock stated as he shoved the item in his other hand at John. 

Taking the other dry cleaner bag from Sherlock, John looked confused. “What is this?”

“I took your uniform to be cleaned when I was sending my suits. I know I can be obtuse as to anything and everything not directly affecting me, but I am fully aware that tomorrow is November 11th, so your uniform has been dry cleaned, and ironed in accordance with regulations in preparation for tomorrows service.”

John was shocked. His knee-jerk response was to be angry about Sherlock going through his things without permission; especially his army things, but he was fully aware of Sherlock's lack of personal boundaries and that raising this with him would be pointless. So instead, he focused on how kind and thoughtful the action was. Turning to his own cup of tea, he took a moment to swallow back the emotion of Sherlock doing something so kind and thoughtful for him, cleared his throat and picked up his tea before saying “Thank you Sherlock. That was surprisingly nice of you. I appreciate it.”

As John sipped his tea, he could not help but wonder what Sherlock had done to result in him being so kind; did he have something else awful in the fridge? Had he broken something? Or did he want something?

He found out within an hour; as he was focused on carefully and meticulously cleaning and polishing his dress shoes, Sherlock crept over almost silently, and slipped a pair of his good suit shoes on the newspaper beside John's. John shook his head, chuckling at the sheepish and yet pleading look on Sherlock's face. “I knew there was more to you getting my suit cleaned.”


End file.
